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My Actor-Husband

<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> WILL'S friends certainly provided one continual round of pleasure, if dissipation may be classed under that head. I was brought to wonder how they found time for "the petty round of irritating concerns and duties" of life. They appeared always to be dining or lunching out. One met them in the various restaurants at all hours, drinking round upon round of cocktails, and polishing them off with cognac. The Pompeian room at the Annex between five and six in the afternoon is Chicago typified. The artistic gentleman who conceived the decorative scheme of the Pompeian room had a sly sense of the eternal fitness of things. He also knew his Chicago. The great bacchic amphoræ—copies of those classic receptacles utilized as relief stations by old Romans who had wined too well—are concrete reminders of his sense of humour. I have seen more women in Chicago under the influence of liquor than in any other city in the world. This probably accounts for their low standard of morality as well as for the emotional debauches in which they indulge. There was one couple typical of the class of high-flyers in which Chicago abounds. The husband was a throat specialist with a splendid practice. He was popular among stage-folk. Will had met the doctor and his wife during a former engagement. The wife expressed herself as "strong for" Will. Scarcely a day passed without a telephone message or a call from Mrs. Pease. She would drop in at the most inopportune times. "Don't mind me," she would say, settling herself comfortably. "I've seen gentlemen in dressing-gowns before. That red is very becoming to your peculiar style of beauty, sir. Nothing if not artistic." Mrs. Pease was a tall woman, built on the slab style. She affected mannish tailormades and heavy boots. When she sat down she invariably crossed her legs. The extremities she exhibited were not prepossessing. She was also expert in innuendo and double entente. She flirted outrageously with Will and made me feel like the person in the song, "Always in the way." In fact I came to the conclusion that wherever we went I was accepted as a necessary evil—among the women. There was always a "pairing off" after dinner or supper; surreptitious rendezvous in the obscure cosey corners; sotto voce conversations, not intended for my ears. I found myself getting the habit of talking stupid nonsense with persons in whom I was not interested, simply to cover the follies of the others. The men flattered me. Flattery is a habit with men; they think most women expect it—and they do. After a little practice a woman can tell to a certainty just what a man is going to say under certain conditions. How can any one be flattered by the saccharine platitudes which are ground out automatically like chewing-gum from a slot-machine? So few women have a sense of humour. They have less self-respect. Chicago lake-wind claimed me for a victim. I came down with a bad throat. Will insisted upon my consulting his physician friend. He was a handsome chap—this popular Doctor Pease—as blonde as Will was dark, but already marked with the ravages of dissipation. He had a genial raillery which made it almost impossible to take him seriously. I did not know whether it was a part of the treatment to unbare my throat and shoulders and sound my lungs and to let his hand linger on the uncovered flesh, but I didn't like it. Neither did I believe my age, my weight and my bust measure had any connection with my throat trouble. Of course I didn't tell Will anything about it, but the next time I needed treatment I asked him to accompany me. Will liked the doctor, so I kept my own counsel. One noon-day Mrs. Pease telephoned that they were going off on a motor trip for a tour of the country clubs, at one of which they had planned to dine. They wanted me to join them and after the matinée they would send a car to pick up Will, and return him in time for the evening performance. I told Will I did not want to go, giving the excuse that my throat was still sore. Mrs. Pease answered that the doctor said the air would do me good and that he would be responsible for me. I endeavoured to compromise by promising to meet them at the theatre after the matinée when they picked up Will, but the doctor himself came to the 'phone and Will decided for me. When the telephone announced the arrival of the party I went down to the reception room, where I found the doctor awaiting me. He bundled me into my great fur coat and insisted upon my wearing a fur cap his wife had sent me. He cautioned me to wrap up well, as the car was an open one. When we went out, as I supposed, to join the others, I was surprised to find that the doctor was alone. "The rest of them have gone on ahead," he answered my enquiring look. "I was detained at the office and told them not to wait on us. We'll overtake them if the car is in good shape." I felt strangely uncomfortable as I took my seat beside him in the racing machine. He secured the robes about me with his easy familiarity and tucked me in with a good deal of care. As he seated himself at the wheel and drew on his gloves he smiled at me and asked whether I was timid. He said he made it a rule to kiss a woman whenever she screamed. That was not a propitious beginning, I thought. The doctor drove skillfully, although recklessly. The boulevard system of Chicago is an excellent one. We covered miles of smooth paving, from which the snow had been removed, before we reached the country roads. After he had "let her out a bit" and showed me what she could do, he slowed up and turned to me with a little laugh, "That's going some, isn't it?" It struck me at the time that "going some" was probably the motto on the city's escutcheon. Everybody wants to be faster than everybody else. The air was exhilarating. My face tingled from the contact with the wind. The doctor's glances made me uncomfortable. "You look like a rosy-cheeked boy," he said. "I'd like to bite you." I silently thanked the stars the car was an open one. Farther on we stopped at a country club. The doctor said it was a long time between drinks. As we drove into the club-grounds I noticed another motor under the shed. I hoped it might belong to other members of the party. The doctor made straight for the shed. When I looked at the deep snow, and only a narrow path cleared to the club house, I apprehended some silliness on the part of my host. Disregarding his suggestion to sit still while he put up his machine, I climbed down and picked my way over the slippery path. I had not gone far when the doctor overtook me and, seizing me from behind, lifted me in his arms. Not even the presence of the men shovelling snow prevented. My first impulse was to free myself, and I believe I administered a kick or two. The more I remonstrated the more he laughed. The picture of making a ridiculous show of myself made me submit to being carried the rest of the way. After ushering me into the living-room the doctor had the good sense to leave me alone for a while. By the time he appeared I had sufficiently recovered my equilibrium to receive him frostily. My dignity was lost on him. He pulled up a great armchair in front of the roaring fire and bade me drink the hot scotch the waiter at that moment brought in. A subdued titter from an obscure corner of the room sent the doctor in search of other occupants. He discovered them behind a screen. "Aha!" he greeted them in mock-seriousness. "Discovered!" "Stung"; responded a masculine voice. "So this is why you wouldn't join our party, eh? You sneaked off by yourselves. I didn't think anybody but me would have the nerve to try this place so soon after the snow-storm." "Neither did we!" "For Heaven's sake don't give us away, will you?" It was the woman who spoke.... "Who've you got with you?" she added in a lower tone. "O, a little friend of mine," answered the doctor. "Come over and meet her. I think you know her husband—Hartley, the actor." I fear the couple whose rendezvous we had discovered were not impressed with the popular actor's wife. My conversation was limited to monosyllables. The omission, I fancy, was not serious. They had their own topic of conversation. It revolved chiefly around the tenth commandment. In fact, one might conclude with perfect assurance that the seventh and the last of the commandments are the raison d'être of all conversation among that set.... I lost count of the drinks. The doctor said that in the future he would provide Maraschino cherries by the bottle for my especial delectation. When we left the club it was dark. The doctor's friends went at the same time. They had a chauffeur. The doctor's bloodshot eyes made me wish we, too, had one. The cold air, happily, set him right. He drove more carefully than earlier in the day. Perhaps he recognized his own condition. Once he slowed down and looked at his watch. "We're going to be late," he said. "I've half a mind to telephone that we've picked up a puncture and have gone back to town for repairs. What do you say?" He appeared to be turning the matter over in his mind, but I could see that he was not taking me into consideration. "No, we can't do that," I said without too much emphasis. "Mr. Hartley would be worried." He smiled at me as he replaced his watch. "Yes, I guess you're right; it will have to wait until some other time." He patted the covers above my lap. "Little Girl," he murmured, rather too tenderly. I was glad I could not see his eyes. The car shot ahead. For the next half hour I had a bewildering sense of flying over the snow-clad earth, coming now and then in contact with it as the car struck a rut. The lights, striking against the stalactited branches of the trees and foliage, scintillated like the tiara of a comic-opera star—or the Diamond Horseshoe on society night at the Metropolitan. We were the last ones to arrive at the country club where we were to dine. This time the doctor dropped me at the door. Someone was drumming the piano as I came in. By the time I had taken off my wraps the doctor joined me. There was a general noisy greeting when we entered the great hall. Nearly all of the women I had met before. "I thought the doctor had smashed you up," one of them said. "Or punctured a tire and gone back to town," another added, giving the doctor a broad wink. "Leila's gone back to town to get Mr. Hartley," volunteered someone else. (Leila was Mrs. Pease.) I settled myself in a niche of the chimney-seat, hoping to thaw out eventually. I was chilled to the very depths of my being, and it was not altogether physical. There were lots and lots of cocktails before dinner. Judging from the spirits of the company there had been a few before we arrived. When I heard that Mrs. Pease herself was driving the car in which she had gone to fetch Will, I had visions of his being dumped into a snow-bank or of colliding with a trolley. It seemed an interminable time until they appeared. We had reached the entrée. There was a noisy greeting and a round of sallies. "Explain yourself!" "We thought you'd eloped or got locked up for speeding!" "Stopped on the road, I'll bet," said the doctor, who had risen and grasped Will's hand. Will waved to me across the table. "O, you actor!" came from the woman at my right but one. I recognized the person who had reproved Will after the supper at the College Inn on the opening night. When the champagne was served Will raised his glass to me. "Drink it—it won't hurt you; you look tired," he said, in a stage whisper. "Stop flirting with your wife!" remonstrated Mrs. Pease. "Doc—Doc!" (The doctor was busy with a little blonde lady on the left.) He turned enquiringly to his wife's bleat. "You're neglecting your patient. Handsome Willy here says his wife is pale and wants to know what you've been doing to her!" The doctor leaned over me solicitously. "Never mind—I'm the doctor." For the rest of the meal he devoted himself to me. During the dinner a party of five came in and sat at another table. Two of them proved to be the couple we had met at the other country club. The man winked discreetly to the doctor. "Ye gods!" exclaimed the woman at my left but one. "It's Sid!—and I'm supposed to be home, sick in bed with a headache!" She looked at the man I had met and I assumed he was "Sid." "Damn such a town, anyway, where you can't go out without running into your own husband. Doc, who's he got with him?" She leered across the room at "Sid's" good-looking companions. "Never mind, Bell," soothed the doctor, "neither of you have got anything on the other." Bell blew him a kiss. "Dear old pain-killer!" she purred. A little later "Sid" came over to the table and the doctor joined the other party. Sid's wife started to introduce him to me. "I've met the lady," he interrupted, not giving me credit for any discretion. "O, you have," she said in an unpleasant tone. As he passed on behind her chair he said to her sotto voce, "Headache, eh? I like the way you lie." "O, you go to hell!" was the gentle rejoinder. There was still a trace of the anger which illuminated her bleary eyes when she turned to me. "What do you think of him trying to put it over me?" She steered back to the subject which was on her mind. Where had I met her husband and when? I told her I didn't recall—that he was probably mistaken. She knew I was lying. I am sure I don't know why I did it. Someone started telling funny stories. They were not really funny; only smutty. The women were more daring than the men. Will always declared that women were "whole hoggers" when once they started. I presume they labour under the impression that it is sporty or that it pleases the men "to go them one better." Ever since Eve was made for Adam's pleasure the female sex has been as pliable as the original mixture of mud and a floating rib. Women, generally, are what men want them to be.... As time went by I began to fret lest Will be late for the evening performance. Finally I caught his eye and he understood my message. He looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. "Doc, what's the best time your machine can make? I've got precisely twenty minutes before the curtain goes up." "I'll get you there," answered the doctor as he left the table. "I'll drive him in," called the doctor's wife. "No, I guess not!" he answered over his shoulder. I devoutly, if mutely, thanked heaven. I am sure the doctor realized that his wife was "three sheets to the wind"—to use Will's favourite expression. I made my adieus and rose to follow Will. "Where are you going?" called Mrs. Pease. "No, you don't—you don't shake us like this! Willy, tell your wife to sit down and behave herself." In vain I expostulated that I must go back to the baby. "Never mind the kiddie; he's asleep and don't even know he's got a mother." She followed us into the hall where the doctor and Will were hurrying into their fur coats. "You can't go this trip, little lady," and the doctor pushed me out of the draughty doorway. "There's no room in the car and we're going to ride like hell." I appealed mutely to Will, who drew me aside. "Stick it out a little longer, girlie. They'll feel hurt if you don't. You can telephone to the hotel if you're anxious about the boy." He kissed me lightly. I felt on the verge of rebellion. "Shall you be late?" I managed. "No—unless something breaks down on the way. I'm not on until after the rise, and if necessary I'll go on without my make-up." "Come on, Hartley!" The doctor was already at the wheel. We watched them spurt ahead. "I hope your husband's insured," gurgled one of the women.... I felt sick and wretched. I wanted to go home, even if it were only a hotel room. Home was where Boy was. I had a wild impulse of stealing out unnoticed and asking my way to the nearest trolley line. Then I remembered I had not a cent in my purse. The return of the doctor relieved my mind as to Will's safe arrival. I comforted myself with the thought that the party would soon break up. The diners across the room had joined us before the return of the doctor. There was another round of liqueurs and at last someone moved to break up. "Sid's" wife, whose tongue was getting thick, suggested that we all go for a drive and end up by having supper at Rector's. There was general acquiescence. "Let's make a night of it," was the slogan. While the others were dividing themselves to suit the accommodation of the various automobiles, Mrs. Pease and I went to the dressing-room. "Lord! Don't I look a sight?" she exclaimed, scanning her reflection in the mirror. "That's the worst of booze; it makes me white around the gills." She daubed on a bit of rouge and patted it over with a powder puff. I took advantage of our tête-à-tête and asked her if she would be so good as to arrange to drop me at my hotel on the way back. "Why, my dear, you're not going home yet; you're going right along with us." "I really must not.... Mr. Hartley wouldn't approve, I know. I have not been well and——" "Rot! You leave that to the doctor. He'll stop and leave a note at the theatre.... Doc! Doc! Come here...." The doctor peeped in the doorway. "O, come in—we're only powdering our noses," Mrs. Pease called to him. "Say, look here! Mrs. H. thinks hubby might not approve of her going on with us——" "I didn't mean—" I began. "I tell her you'll fix it up with him," she interrupted. "It's fixed—long ago. I told your husband we'd come for him after the show. He'll want a bite to eat anyway, and why not be sociable? He told me to tell you to be a good little sport and wait for him." He laid an arm around my shoulders and Mrs. Pease, still busy in front of the mirror, laughed in mock seriousness. "O, don't mind me!" "Did Mr. Hartley—did my husband say he expected me to wait?" "Sure Mike," broke in Mrs. Pease. "Doc, you go pilot that bunch so they don't butt into my preserves. Saidee is soused, and when Saidee gets soused she gets nasty drunk." The doctor disappeared. "I can't stand for women who don't know their capacity," Mrs. Pease continued, working on her complexion. "You're a wise little gazabo to go slow on the fizz. I watched you to-night, and the way you manipulated the glasses was a scream.... Do you know you made a great hit with the doctor? You're just his style—dark eyes, full bust and not 'higher than his heart.' ... O, I'm not jealous! The Doc and I are on to each other." She winked at me and led the way to the hall. "On to each other." ... I mulled over the expression as I watched husbands and wives pairing off with and showing their preference for someone else. Everybody seemed to be "on to each other." It was a game of stalemates. I drove back with the doctor. There was no way out of it without making a scene. "Sid" and the doctor engaged in a brush along the road. The reckless speeding fitted in with my mood. There were moments when I almost wished that something would break and land me with some broken bones, if nothing more. I was smarting under Will's obvious lack of consideration; He knew the atmosphere was not a congenial one, yet he sacrificed me to it without hesitation. I wanted with all my heart to have him popular and sought after; I was willing to play the game—up to a certain point. But when the game entailed a loss of self-respect, of confidence, or of equivocation with one's better instincts, there I drew the line. It ceased to be worth the candle. I could no longer shut my eyes to the encroachments upon our happiness the very exigencies of his profession demanded. My passionate and childish efforts at blind man's buff were not convincing. The time had come when my husband and I must have a complete understanding. I must make clear to him how I felt. After that, if he were still blind to the dangers which threatened our life—no, I would not dwell on such a contingency. I felt sure Will would see things at their true valuation. For the first time that day I settled back to something approaching a state of composure. One always feels less perturbed after determining upon a course of action. I resolved to see the evening through with as much equanimity as possible. There was something grimly humorous about the situation: if Will really wanted to make a sport of me I was "cutting my eye-teeth" with a vengeance. So engaged was I with my own thoughts I had not noticed that we had slowed up. Coincidentally the car came to a stop. The doctor rose to his feet and looked behind him. "Anything wrong?" I questioned. "No; I only wanted to make sure the coast was clear." He knelt with one knee on the seat and pulled the robe about me from behind. With his free hand he raised my face close to his, and held me there. "I'm going to have one kiss from those luscious lips—if it takes a leg," he said. The doctor was a strong man. Will had often remarked that no one would suspect me of having so much strength. Yet I was a mere child in the doctor's hands. He pinioned my arms beneath the weight of his body. He kept his lips on mine until the strength oozed out of my finger-tips from sheer suffocation. When he raised his head it was only to look at me and breathing hard again to fasten himself upon me with a fiercer tremor which shook his whole frame.... Only once or twice in all our married life had Will kissed me like that. I had believed it an expression of purest love. I realized now that it connoted other emotions less pure.... "Baby! Baby!... Put your arms around my neck.... You haven't fainted, have you?" ... He lifted me to my feet. I could not repress a hysterical sob. "There—that's better! I didn't mean to be so rough, but I'm mad about you. You drive me crazy! Kiss me of your own free will...." I succeeded in holding him back while I looked him in the eyes, struggling to express what my lips refused to say.... "O ... O...." I finally stammered. "Is it right?... Do you think it's right?..." Wholly misconstruing my words, he strained me to him and kissed me more tenderly, endeavouring to soothe me. "Right? Little boy, who the devil cares whether it's right or not! It's nice, isn't it? Don't you love it?" "My husband ... do you think it's right to him?..." Something of the disgust I felt must have pierced him, for he released me with a change of expression. "O, come now—don't spring that old gag on your friend the Doc.... What do you care as long as he doesn't get on to it?... You know as well as I do that a good-looking fellow in his profession has it thrown at him from all sides. You don't think he turns 'em all down, do you? You've got too much sense for that.... Come on, now ... let's understand each other.... You're as safe with me as a babe on its mother's breast.... I'll call you up on Saturday and we'll go off some place together ... where we can talk it over.... God, Baby! I'm crazy about you!..." * * * * When Will and I walked into our rooms at the hotel the little travelling clock on my bureau pointed the hour of three. I slipped out of the fur coat the doctor had loaned me and left it in a heap upon the floor. I don't know how long I stood contemplating space.... Then I heard him cross the room and pick up the coat. I felt his eyes fastened upon me. I roused myself and went into the bedroom, where I began to take down my hair in front of the mirror. Will followed me and I saw that he was watching me in the glass. After a moment he spoke to me. "Girlie ..." his voice was kind.... "You'll have to learn to gauge your capacity.... You're not a tank like the rest of the crowd.... Look at your face; it's as red as a red, red rose—and has been all evening." He patted me on the arm and went into the bathroom. I felt as if I were going to shriek.... Will thought I was drunk.... I looked at myself in the glass.... My face was drawn and there were red burning spots in my cheeks.... My eyes peered but like two burnt holes in a blanket.... Yes, it was plain to see that I was not myself.... I smothered a burst of hysterical laughter.... I started toward the bathroom where Will was preparing for bed. I intended to tell him that in all, during the entire day, I had taken only one glass of champagne—and that at his request.... Then I stopped. I did not dare to trust myself.... I knew he would laugh and pet me and say he had not meant to criticize and then he would take me in his arms ... and I would cry it all out upon his heart.... I would tell him the whole miserable experience ... and he ... what would he do? If he called the doctor to account there would be a scandal.... It would be degrading.... I could never endure it.... And if he did not call the Doctor to account—if he merely cut him without demanding satisfaction, I should despise him—I should hate him.... "O, yes you would—you know you would, though you wouldn't acknowledge it even to yourself" ... it was Miss Burton's voice.... "Take my advice—better not tell him at all." I switched off the light, so that Will could not see my face.... * * * * <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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